


Inside Of You

by DeathDirt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adrenaline, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Gunplay, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Then total consent, Translation, Watersports, dub-con, luciper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: Lúcio never imagined things going like this when Reaper cornered him on a mission. Death was apparently the fickle sort...





	Inside Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Inside of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864920) by [KaernkOfRivia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaernkOfRivia/pseuds/KaernkOfRivia). 



> Please keep in mind that this is a translation, it's not guaranteed to be accurate because I am using google. Basically, I'm going to write this as I read the original because everyone needs more Luciper and I'm currently without inspiration for my other fics. Sooooo... Translation is a little easier. Sorry ( ;Vov) I will do my best though to make up for it.

This should be just another day of work. A mission to do, quick and easy, something that'll be over quick so he can get to a show on time for once. Lúcio wasn't worried when he got the orders, nor when he started to carry them out; he just hadn't counted on an ambush. He hadn't accounted for the presence of a few Talon agents in particular in the area. It just didn't seem like the kind of thing they'd bother with. But there they were.

And although Lúcio had been able to knock some onto the brink of death and moved as fast as his skates could carry him, he still managed to find himself trapped by that same figure that was eternally cloaked in his own abyss. He'd never personally seen him in the field til now, but he could tell that something Overwatch had _never_ mentioned about him was how aggressive the man's presence could be. This man walked with death. Something about the air he carried around him; Lúcio could feel it prickle his skin. Being in the presence of that man, fear was inevitable, pure and simple.

A low moan escaped the young musician's lips as the metal claws of his foe's gloves graze across his neck, nearly scratching. It had to be a threat. He knew it. Lúcio was certain that his life was in the hands of this terrorist, this killer who identified as Death incarnate, and yet there was something else in that situation that made him anxiously shiver. That something was certainly not fear.

No, the thing that had his heart racing had nothing to do with fear. He finally sucked in a breath when black started to creep in on his vision, though it could've just been Reaper. The masked man's head tilted ever so slightly to the left, and although the DJ couldn't see the eyes hidden behind the bone-white mask, he was sure he was watched with all the focus of an owl on an exposed mouse.

Was he just...amused by his suffering? Lúcio wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case, though it was hard to say he was suffering. There was something about the million-miles-a-minute beat of his heart, the sweat beading on his forehead, his breath coming in short bursts that felt oddly pleasing. Maybe the adrenaline was just fucking with his head. Maybe his survival switch was broken.

"You don't fear death."

It wasn't a question, but even so, Lúcio found himself racing for an answer. Was he afraid to die? That was arguable. He was, just like most people, but he dealt with so many near-death implications and possibilities on a daily basis because he was a man who had fought for his own freedom, and now fought for the freedom of others. So maybe the fear was lessened; meeting with death so regularly, he may as well have been on a first-name basis. That's not to say he wanted to give into her soft embrace while he was still fairly young, not even thirty, but he didn't consider the cruelly honest maiden to be so distant. He was too used to her fleeting, teasing touch to be scared.

That didn't, however, make it any less strange that he was standing almost entirely unarmed - if you wanted to count his skates as weapons - face to face with a known, dangerous terrorist whose acts were so horrible, so irredeemable that mere glimpses of his 'handiwork' was able to make even some of the hardest agents of Overwatch have to hold back vomit. Reaper was a monster, through and through. 

Not a drop of compassion or kindness or anything good inside of him. Just inky black; the same on the inside as he was outside.

Lúcio closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, hoping that those sharp claws threatening to close around his neck would simply do so, finally close up his throat to deny the precious oxygen to his body and kill him, or whatever other sick death this man had planned for him.

Instead, the claws just lightly scraped the underside of his chin, raising the musician's gaze for the threat of a slit throat. The mask analyzed the resigned tiredness of his expression with a peculiar curiosity. Raspy, hoarse voice, ethereal in its depth, sounded again after a few moments of study. 

"Why don't you beg for your life?"

The young musician's eyes snapped open to meet the darkness within the slits of the stark white mask, not even certain if he was looking for anything. Any trace of humanity hidden by the monster. Anything that could relieve his conscious about what he felt in that moment. And yet he didn't hesitate; it was a horrible flaw of his, a bad habit of speaking with complete sincerity while totally disregarding the consequences. That was just who he was.

"What good's that gonna do me? If you're gonna kill me, you're gonna do it, no buts about it. Begging just makes me look even more like a kid and, don't know if you could notice, I get mistaken for a sixteen-year-old as it is."

"But I'd love to hear you, _ranito_." Aaaand any possible response that had been in Lúcio's head was immediately swept away with that nickname. It was a bit of a stretch, but it sounded like Reaper had just called him frog. That wasn't really surprising, most people loved to call him things like that because of his obviously subtle motif. Coming from this guy in particular though...sounded wrong. Too sugary, to sweet, too casually kind to be coming from such a remorseless beast.

No more perverse than the thick thigh that shoved itself between his legs. It pressed painfully against Lúcio's sudden erection, and it took a moment to realize just how much heat he had pooled in his crotch. Just another misfire. A misfire that made his whole body feel like jelly, held up more by the wonderfully firm thigh between his legs than his own trembling prosthetics.

Lúcio didn't know what to do, what to think. His logical mind screamed at him to push the killer away, escape, avoid the obvious bad decision about to be made here, but his body just begged for more. His body wanted it, to surrender to whatever this was, and the most damning proof of it was the soft moans that escaped his lips every time he felt Reaper's thigh graze against his erection. Yeah, a _totally_ natural physical reaction to being threatened with death, by death.

It was such a weird dilemma, wondering if he should just roll with the flow until he got an opportunity, stick with it and see where it took him, run off without any other indications that he was aroused by this - he wavered with each passing second. Such a strange desire, wanting to be taken, humiliated, accepting it all without being able to, or even wanting to, protest in any way. On the other hand, Reaper's thoughts were a complete mystery, stark and indifferent mask not giving up any hint of what was going on in its owner's head. This made Lúcio wonder if maybe the masked man was amusing himself with the pain he was inflicting, or if he was just on a power trip. Power over the younger man's life, over his incessant arousal, everything.

A noise of pleasure seemed to escape the mercenary's lips. Lúcio almost didn't hear it, but he liked to imagine that it was satisfied. Even if it was a sick and twisted kind of satisfaction. With a jolt, he realized that the gloved hand was starting to clench around his neck.

Reaper had a bit of an edge over most people in strength. He was no Aleksandra Zaryanova by any means, but he easily had the strength to strangle the young musician without batting an eye. All he needed to do was tighten his grip just bit more, which he was doing, slowly and steadily.

It wasn't painful by any means. Although the young Brazilian opened his mouth in a pitiful attempt to gasp down some air to save himself, the whole sensation of being choked wasn't horrible. Relaxing, in an odd way. His head was starting to feel lighter, his body was beginning to tremble, strength leaving his body at a slow clip. It reminded him of the old frog trick - stick them in boiling water, they'd hop right out, but if you just slowly turned the heat up, they'd gladly cook themselves. Well, here he was, cooking himself. Suddenly, he was overtaken by a powerful shudder that ran along the entirety of his body. It sapped what little energy he had left, overwhelming him to the point that Lúcio had decided that he was ready to feel death's sweet kiss on his cheek.

But before the comforting dark could take him into its depths, the reaper released him, slowly withdrawing his gloved hand. Lúcio gasped for air, feeling oh-so-thankful for it after having been slowly deprived of it over a matter of minutes. He still felt dizzy, not quite strong enough to keep himself upright. When he finally managed to stay on his own two prosthetics, he felt the sticky warmth coating his thighs as Reaper's thick limb drew away with the rest of him. He didn't manage to stay up for long though, instead collapsing on all fours to cough for more air on what should have been his resting place.

"You won't die tonight after all."

Something different was edging into the mercenary's voice; Lúcio just couldn't quite place what. Maybe it was the sadistic enjoyment of having held another being's life in his hands, pleasure being taken in leaving him in such an aggravating state hovering between life and death without falling to either side. Or maybe...just maybe, Reaper was actually kind of feeling into this weird thing that had just happened. Lúcio definitely took notice of the generous tent in those tight leather pants. 

"We'll have to play another time, froggy." He turned his back on the musician, acting indifferent to the whole issue he'd just caused. "Don't worry about that. Your life is mine now." With a dark chuckle following him, the murderer silently drifted away.

He was utterly fucked. In more ways than one. It would take some time for Lúcio to realize just how much he _really_ belonged to the killer, but for now he was content to have made it through the encounter with nothing more than a casual threat.

"Lúcio! Hey! Hey, Lú! Lú, are you alright?!" Hana's voice tugged the musician's attention away from his scattered and confused thoughts that had held him paralyzed until then. Her MEKA was parked a few feet away, shielding them both from view while Hana herself knelt to help her friend to his feet. In a frenzy, Lúcio picked over himself for blood, bruises, any mark that would tip Hana off that he was hurt. Nothing. He was fine. ...At least he was on the outside. 

Hana thought that she had come just in time to save Lúcio from the cold clutches of death. 

If she only knew.

**Author's Note:**

> The original fic is 14 chapters, I don't know if it's bad or not, but I might continue it past that if it's not actually overstepping my bounds. That's thirteen chapters from now, though ^v^ Get there when we get there.


End file.
